


i can't fight the feeling (and every night i feel it)

by orphan_account



Series: 642 Things to Write About [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Homophobia, I love Trisha so I mention her a lot, M/M, and mentions of abuse, not graphic, those are the only triggering things, wouldn't say she's a character though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Write about two characters who have known each other for a long time, and give one of them a secret."</p><p> </p><p>  <i> He gets more pictures of the blonde than he probably should, running out there like a madman and doing his best to at least even out the scores. Zayn wants to cheer, wants to yell out his name and wear his jersey to the games, 'HORAN' printed in big, bold lettering on the back. He'll stick to this, though, for as long as he has to. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	i can't fight the feeling (and every night i feel it)

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first actual fanfic I've written? Or, that I planned on writing. I'm so nervous about it, but Emily, Kris, AND Tannah won't leave me alone until I've finished it. Here it is, I'm sorry that it's the equivalent of kitty litter.
> 
> Enjoy! (I use a lot of commas, this is my first piece, I'm not that great. Lower your expectations so I don't disappoint you please. Thank you ily)
> 
> ps. did some editing on the summary and little parts in the fic. so if it looks different, that's because it is.

Zayn is twenty four years old, and he's in love. 

He flicks the ashes off the tip of his cigarette, feet dangling over the edge of the balcony. It's late, too late, but his mind is reeling, and the scene playing out below him is constant enough to calm him.

His thoughts are carried away with the smoke blown through his lips, up into the splattering of stars in the sky, the moon bright above him. The same moon from all those years ago, when he'd peek out of his bedroom window and whisper the wish that was on his lips.

☾☰☼☰☼☰☽

Zayn is six years old, and he's in love.

He was playing around in the sandbox, building a castle to show to his mum, when a little girl came by and trampled over the whole thing. It wasn't her fault- she's just a baby- but Zayn's mad at her anyway. He spent so much time on it, a whole _thirty minutes_ , and now it's back to a pile of dirty sand. Instead of rebuilding, he lays down with a pout, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing his bottom lip out.

He doesn't stay like that for long, though, before another little boy makes his way to the sandbox. He's laughing, loudly, cheeks pink as he leans over the edge to look down at Zayn. He's got pretty blue eyes and a few spaces between his teeth, grinning wide like he's proud. His head is tilted to the side, hand outstretched towards where Zayn is laying, and the laugh comes back when he sees the face of the boy sprawled out in the sand.

"Hello Pouty-face," he says as he climbs in, sitting down at Zayn's side, "M'names Niall. Why are you so mad?"

Although Zayn just wants to ignore the pretty boy and his smiling face, he finds himself uncrossing his arms, playing with the small flag he had at the top of the castle earlier as he replies, "My castle got ruined... built it really high for my mum and some little girl- she ruined it." There's a furrow between his brow, a sigh in his words as he speaks that makes Niall smile a bit softer, lean in a bit closer.

"How about we build it again? I think it would be really cool," he plucks the flag out of Zayn's hand, twirls it around, "especially with this at the top. Maybe we can make it even bigger!" He tugs at Zayn's shoulders so he's sitting up while he brushes the sand off his shirt and out of his hair.

Zayn agrees, of course, tells him his name and about his sisters while Niall tells him all about his brother, Greg, and his mam and dad, how they moved here from Ireland not too long ago ("A year, maybe? Three months? Same thing."). Zayn tells him everything he wants to know about school, all about the neighborhood since he's lived here his whole life, talks a lot more than he does on the swings with Dan and Ant at recess. They show their mums the finished castle (twice the size, like Niall said it would be, with windows and a stickman pushed into the wall for a knight) before shaking the sand out of their pockets and shoes, sat on the benches a few feet away to keep an eye out for any dragons disguised as baby girls.

"I promise to come back tomorrow and build another castle with you." Niall assured him, quiet between the two as he hooks his pinky around Zayn's. "Maybe we'll even have school together, and we can build a sandcastle there! We're best friends, Zayn, we'll see each other again." He smiles brightly then, throws his arms around Zayn and pulls him close, hugging him tightly.

"Love you, Nialler," Zayn laughs, hugs him back just as tight before Niall lets go and smacks a kiss to his cheek, running off as he shouts behind him, "Love you too, Zaynie!"

Zayn is six years old when he tells his mum all about Niall on the car ride home (and weeks after that, when Niall walks to Zayn's house from school with him and shares his secret stash of chocolate chip cookies), and he's in love.

☾☰☼☰☼☰☽

The door to the balcony opens as Zayn's pressing the dying tip of his cigarette into the flower pot beside him. He doesn't have to turn around to know who it is; just scoots to the side as much as the bars bracketing his thighs allow and waits.

Niall's never liked seeing Zayn up this late, troubled out of bed and outside into the chilly late night air. He's never liked the smoking habit, never liked the way he'd spend days outside working on a sketch because his head is bubbling over with all the things he can't seem to say. He'll wake up to the purple smudges underneath Zayn's eyes, paint covering his fingertips and the angle of his cheekbone, feeling guilty as ever that he can't do more to help him sleep at night.

It's quiet between them for a long while, the door shut tight to keep the warm air in. Niall makes his way over to the edge, knees popping as he sits down beside Zayn, slipping his legs through the gaps in the railing and draping his blanket over the both of them. He leans his head on Zayn's shoulder, watches the cars go by on the street below, the lights in an office flicking on a few blocks away, the rare wanderer on the sidewalk beneath them.

Neither say a word but Zayn's mind is filled with them, filled with all of the sentences he'd write down on the backs of envelopes when he was younger, the journal entries in tattered notebooks tucked into his pillowcase, the words weighing down his tongue and molding his lips together. It's quiet, but that's who they are, that's what they're used to- the silence filled with touches, like the 'Z' that Zayn traces on the inside of Niall's wrist and the firm grip Niall has on Zayn's thigh. Always soft, always quiet, together.

☾☰☼☰☼☰☽

Zayn is nine years old, and he's in love.

There's a party going on downstairs, loud and obnoxious, and it's making his head hurt. He's tucked up against the corner of his room with his sketchbook, drawing one of the trees outside and the lamp on his desk. His art teacher said he had potential; that he was different from the others, liked to draw the things he saw instead of some stick figures and the same tree with the same black squirrel hole in the middle of the trunk.

He can hear his sister's laugh come up the stairs, his mum trying to talk over the crowd of children in the living room. It's a birthday party and pretty much the whole school is in his house. The thought doesn't sit well with Zayn, makes him a bit uncomfortable in his own home. He stopped going to parties a year ago and refused to have one for his birthday, stayed home with his family on Eid instead of going down the street where gifts were being exchanged and food was pouring out of the oven. He likes his quiet, likes to stay under a blanket and away from the commotion and in his world of comic books and paintings.

The little pang of guilt stabs at him for a while for leaving his sister's birthday party, makes his head hurt that much more, even though he just wanted some time to recharge. He's sure it won't be that much of a bother, since the kids already running around are probably driving Zayn's mum insane. Maybe he should go down and help her? Maybe he can clean up a bit in the kitchen for her, or make sure no one gets-

"Zayn? Are you in here?"

Zayn peeks over the edge of the bed, sketchbook forgotten on the windowsill as he watches Niall poke his head through the door, smiling when he catches his eye.

"Knew you were gonna be up here," he says, grin wide and teeth tinged pink from the frilly cake, "Just had to find you. What's up?"

Zayn shrugs, pulling himself up onto his bed and patting the space next to him as he reaches over for his sketchbook, flipping it open to one of the newer pages. "Felt like coming up here for a bit. Don't like-" Zayn stops himself, shrugs as Niall comes to sit beside him. Niall wipes his hands- fingertips the same shade of pink as his teeth- on his jeans and reaches for the sketchbook, tracing the lines on the page with his pinky.

"You don't like parties," Niall says quietly, pressing a faded pink circle into the corner of the page, "because they're too loud and you can't even hear yourself talking. You told me that on your birthday." He flips the sketchbook closed, tugs on his hand before scooting off the bed and putting on one of Zayn's jackets, "Let's go outside, then! Steal some cake and climb a tree or something while the girls play dress up. Just you and me."

Niall's holding his hand out, looking a bit silly with Zayn's smaller jacket on him, but Zayn walks over to him anyway, bumping his shoulder and pulling on his shoes. "Only if you get cake for both of us and don't _eat it all._ " he says, laughing when Niall pulls a hurt face, pushing Zayn's hunched over figure on his way to the door.

"That was _once_ , Zayn, and you told me you didn't even want any!" he exclaims, throwing the door open and stepping out, shaking his head as he waits for the other boy. They push at each other some more, making their way downstairs to the cake (" _Three_ pieces so you don't whine if I eat some of yours." and Zayn rolls his eyes.) and out the door, to the big tree beside the park.

Zayn is nine years old, swinging his feet on a branch 10 feet off the ground next to a boy with pink cheeks and pink teeth and an arm around his shoulder (with the side effects of a few stains on his sleeve that he doesn't regret), and he's in love. 

☾☰☼☰☼☰☽  

"Up kind of early for work, don't you think?" Zayn asks after a while, Niall's warmth leaking through the thin jacket he has on. His throat is sore from the cold and from the smoke, rough from disuse and the sleep he hasn't been getting.

Niall laughs, tired and quiet, tilts his head up a bit to nuzzle up to Zayn's neck, "Funny, Malik. Aren't you staying up a bit late if you've work, too?" He lifts his head up- to Zayn's dismay- opting to set his chin on Zayn's shoulder instead.

"The thing is, babe," Zayn says, running his hand along Niall's back slowly, smoothly, "I have the afternoon shift, while your job starts in maybe.. four hours? Three?" He reaches his fingers beneath Niall's jumper, pressing cold fingertips at the base of his spine, making him shiver.

"Yeah, well," Niall huffs, pulling his jumper back down and pulling the blanket over the top of his head, "wanted to spend some time talking to my favorite insomniac before work. Is that a crime?"

Zayn breathes out a laugh, shaking his head before leaning it against Niall's. "Nothing wrong with giving me all of your attention, you know I live for it."

☾☰☼☰☼☰☽

Zayn is fourteen years old, and he's in love.

He's sat at the corner of the field, tripod set up on the weathered track course. There's 15 minutes until the game ends and the home team is down by 2 points. The stands are wild, anxious, shouting out the player's names. It's a bit too loud and rowdy, not exactly his scene; but unless he wants to fail his photography class, he has to take pictures of the soccer team.

He gets more pictures of the blonde than he probably should, running out there like a madman and doing his best to at least even out the scores. Zayn wants to cheer, wants to yell out his name and wear his jersey to the games, 'HORAN' printed in big, bold lettering on the back. He'll stick to this, though, for as long as he has to.

It's gotten a bit troubling, confuses him sometimes. He doesn't know how he feels or what he's even feeling, exactly, just knows he likes to stick himself to Niall's side when they go out, likes to be the one in the seat next to him in class, likes to know he's the only one with the title "Niall's Best Friend". Does he want that title to be different? Something more? Maybe it's just the fact they've been friends for a while, or the fact that Niall's pretty much the only friend he has now, since Dan & Ant moved to a school a few cities away. It's probably just his stupid teenage hormones, probably just-

The crowd roars, the home team just scored another point. There's eight minutes until the game ends, and they have a good chance of evening out the scores. The team cheers and Zayn snaps some pictures of one of the players, Cullen? His camera's focused back on Niall before he knows it, shirt pulled up over his face. Some girl runs over to the edge he's walking towards, calling out his name. His collar falls back to his chest and he smiles, walking over and- oh. Yeah.

Mindy is her name- or is it Madi?- he can't keep track anymore. Yesterday it was Kelly but Niall didn't like the way she'd always beg to come over- so Mindy/Madi it is. Ever since Niall became the star player of the school's soccer team he's been girl-crazy, and the girls have been Niall-crazy. There's a new girlfriend every week, if Zayn's lucky. Sometimes there's the occasional 2-monther, but that's only if "her arse is _really_ nice, Zayn."

It's put Zayn in a bit of a blue mood, not being the person Niall wants to spend the most time with. It was always ZaynandNiall, going out to the park and down the street to the theatre, ZaynandNiall laying in the field beside the school on Saturday nights, ZaynandNiall in each other's houses. Now it's more, Zayn watching the Avengers alone for the third time because Niall had a date come up; Zayn sitting at the top of the jungle gym with an extra cupcake balanced on his knee, almost missing his curfew because Niall never showed up; Zayn sketching the forest across the parking lot of the school without Niall's fingerprints smudged on the edges of the paper; Trisha sitting Zayn down to ask if he and Niall had a falling out, he hasn't come over in so long.

Zayn sighs, packing up the extra equipment so he can leave once the game's over. Niall's probably going to go hang out with Mindy/Madi anyway, so there's no point in staying and getting caught in a stampede of adrenaline-high teenagers. Two minutes left and he can go home, probably do his homework and not think about things that really matter before he goes to bed. He figures he should get some shots of the crowd, turning the camera to get the sea of school colors- the painted faces, the home-made jerseys, the generic t-shirts they sell at the stands by the ticket booth.

He turns back around just in time, it seems, to get the flashing 0:08 on the scoreboard and Niall kicking the ball straight into the other team's goal. Zayn smiles even though Niall surely can't see him, zooming out to get the rest of the team running in to ruffle his hair, pat his back, slap his ass and whatnot. It's great, he even gets the look of astonishment and despair on the opposing team's faces. They all shake hands and finally run back to the stands, the fans cheering and screaming and everything else fans do when their team just won (sort of, a tie isn't a loss, so) a game.

Zayn takes his tripod down and apart, carefully putting it and his camera in his bag while half of the school stomps down the steps of the bleachers. His plan is to dart right off the field and down the street but that sort of all falls apart when Niall comes up behind him to tap on his shoulder, hair wild and smirk even wilder when he shouts, "I did it! Well, we, but. I should get a lot of credit for that last one. Get any good pictures?"

He's got his bag on his shoulder, making his way to Zayn's side like he's ready to walk home with him and Zayn's confused, "Thought you were going to go with- with your girl after the game?" he asks, brow furrowed as he sets his bag on his shoulder.

"Mandy? Nah. Turns out she going for Sean all along, I was unknowingly a great wingman." he explains, stretching his arms out above his head before grimacing, "Think I could take a shower at yours? I smell awful, and your house is a whole street closer than mine."

Zayn smiles, shakes his head of the daze he slipped into when Niall's jersey lifted up with his arms, "'Course you can, still have your pyjamas from the last time you stayed over if you want to spend the night, too?" He lets the question drag to a suggestion, elbowing Niall's side as they start to walk home and watching him giggle.

"Sounds ace, Zayn. You're the best," Niall declared, throwing his arm around Zayn's neck all the way to his house. He makes a scene in front of Trisha, of course, thanking her dramatically for her homemade cookies and hugging her over and over again once he's out of the shower. They climb out of Zayn's window and onto the roof, a platter of cookies between them as they talk about everything under the moon above.

Zayn is fourteen years old as he lays beside this blue-eyed wonder of a boy, staring at his glowing profile under the stars and knows he's in love.

☾☰☼☰☼☰☽

"Zayn," Niall says, serious, "come lay down with me, yeah? Maybe it'll help this time, for a few hours." He's tired, it's evident by his squinted eyes and constant yawns, the crease lines barely making an indent on his cheek and arm, his hair mussed. He's tired and just wants Zayn to sleep, and Zayn wants to at least entertain him.

"Alright, just a few," he sighs, wrapping his arm around Niall's torso as they pull themselves away from the railing, blanket still wrapped tight around their shoulders. He leads them inside, Niall stumbling even with the fingers of one of Zayn's hands pressing into his hip, the other beneath his heart.

"Maybe," Niall slurs, sleepy, "maybe you can finally get some sleep- maybe you'll still be sleeping when I leave for work so I don't have to worry about you." They fall into his bed, Niall immediately pulling the duvet over the top of them, scooting in close.

Zayn's heart is in his throat, the fondness he's feeling pouring into the room as he wraps an arm around Niall's waist, the other carding through his hair, "You're gonna worry about me anyway."

☾☰☼☰☼☰☽

Zayn is seventeen years old, and he's in love.

He's up in his room, an easel set up right beside the window at the perfect angle so he can paint the trees swaying across the street, the summer sun stretching across the roofs of all the houses in the neighbourhood and beyond. He can see Niall's house at this angle, too, the old (dangerous) tree house that sits in the backyard. He paints that next.

Trisha's downstairs in the kitchen, getting ready to make biryani for dinner when there's a knock on the front door, quick and quiet. She wasn't expecting anyone today but when she sees Niall out of the side window she's not surprised. What does shock her is the look on his pale, pale face, his lip bitten red and bleeding, a purpling bruise blossoming on his cheekbone.

She opens the door immediately, the worrying feeling settling in her gut and into her facial features when his red-rimmed eyes look up to meet hers. He breathes in deep, lets out, "Is Zayn home?"

"You of all people would know he's home, Niall," she says, placing a hand at his shoulder and rubbing over it gently, speaking in the caring tone only a mother could manage. "Is there something wrong? Did somebody hurt you?"

Niall closes his eyes, breathes deep before letting it out through his mouth, nodding his head before speaking again, "It's okay, I just- can I go up to Zayn?" His eyes are pleading, his breath hitching and voice cracking like he's about to cry, "Please?"

Trisha gives him a quick hug, shuts the front door behind him, "You never have to ask, our home is your home."

Zayn was expecting something to happen today, maybe a cracked window from some kids playing sports, a lawnmowing company knocking on the door to try and get you to pay them every week for a mediocre job, a parade of cars full of families traveling for the summer; he wasn't expecting his best friend, sobbing and bruised, to collapse through his bedroom door, though.

It takes a while, a long while of holding Niall up on his bed, rocking him gently and rubbing over his back, down his sides, scratching through his hair until he calms down, sniffling into Zayn's shoulder and clinging tight to his shirt.

"My dad kicked me out," he says after a breath, clears his throat and climbs further into Zayn's lap, curled up in a ball like he wants to be small enough to disappear- and maybe he does. "Told him- he doesn't want me in his house, says no son of his-" he stops, bites his lip and looks over at the easel by the window rather than at Zayn's face.

"No son of his..." Zayn urges, hooking a finger under Niall's chin to turn his face towards him, keeping his other hand at Niall's waist like an anchor- he looks like a ghost about to float away.

"Is gay," Niall finishes, swallowing thickly when his eyes start to water again, cringing at his own words like it hurts just to say them. "He was so mad, Zayn. He hit me, yelled at me to get out of his house. My mam just sat there, she didn't-" he chokes, tears spilling over as he turns into Zayn again, face tucked into his neck and hands pulling at his shirt. "Your mum- she didn't even care, she loves you so much. I don't- I don't even have a home anymore! I don't have anything-"

"What are you talking about, Nialler?" Zayn interrupts, face soft as he runs his fingers through Niall's hair, down his back and up again to the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to Niall's temple, "You've a home right here."

It's sorted, then, simple as that; Trisha welcomes him with open arms, has a nice talking to with Niall's parents over the phone before laying out the blankets and pillows in the guest bedroom across the hall from Zayn. Niall cries again- for a completely different reason this time- when he's sitting down with Zayn on his new bed.

"I'm so grateful for you, Zayn, I really am," he says, smile in his voice despite the ugly purple skin below his eye, the split in his lip, "I love you so much, I'll never be able to thank you enough."

Zayn puts his arm over his shoulder, knocks his head against Niall's gently and holds his hand tight, "I love you too, Niall. Being the one you came to is enough for me."

Zayn is seventeen years old, lying down in a bare room with a beautiul boy, scar on his big heart and all, the smell of the curry his mum is making (because it's Niall's favorite) making it's way under the door, and he's in love.

☾☰☼☰☼☰☽

"Why don't you sleep, Zayn?" Niall asks, eyes already closed, "Wish you'd tell me, wish- want you to sleep, Z. Just-" He yawns, words slurring together while he tries to fight the dreams dragging him back into slumber, "Love you, get- sleep. Love you, Zayn."

Zayn smiles down at the tired mess of a man in his arms, "Can't really sleep when you've been quite troubled by your feelings, Niall." He whispers, doesn't want to wake him up again. He's peaceful, curled into and under Zayn's body, warm skin slipping against his own when he shifts, rests his face in the crook of Zayn's neck.

The steady puffs of breath on Zayn's collarbones tells him it's okay, the heart beating underneath his palm making the warmth bloom into his veins from the center of his chest, the fog in his mind clearing, "Because I reckon I might, just a little bit-" he murmurs, laughs to himself and buries his face in the dyed-blonde tips Niall never stopped having, slips his hand under Niall's sweater to squeeze his side. "I believe I'm a bit in love with you."

☾☰☼☰☼☰☽

Zayn is twenty years old, and he's in love.

It's a Friday night and Niall's out partying again, probably at one of the frat houses a street over. Zayn would go, play a game of beer pong and crack open a few in the kitchen, but he's got his art midterm project to work on and figures that's more important than getting pissed.

He's sitting inside and the smell of the paint is probably going to be in the furniture for a few days, but Niall can't complain if he's 1. not here and 2. not sober. He doesn't complain much, anyways, says the smell gives him a headache but won't let Zayn sit outside because then he "doesn't get to experience the magical painting process."

He's been painting for hours and he thinks he might lose feeling in his arm if he has to hold up a palette for any longer, so he takes a break. The soreness in his muscles cling to his bones and not for the first time, he partially regrets not going out with Niall tonight. He could have done this tomorrow while the blonde worked on his songs, guitar loud and voice even louder until he deemed himself worthy of a break and never went back. He'd probably pull up a stool and set his chin on Zayn's shoulder like he's purposely trying to make his heart an Olympic gymnast. And he'd sneak some paint off the palette with his finger, making stick figures on Zayn's bicep, his wrist, color in the space his tattoos don't fill before whining about lunch, or sleep, or both.

It's 1am when Zayn decides to go to bed, too lazy to put on a shirt and curling up under the blankets in his sweatpants. He shivers at the cold air that seems to settle over him now that he's too comfortable to do anything about it, sighs and turns his face into the pillow like he can ignore the icy pokes to his shoulder, the chill even closer to him.

"Scoot, Zayn. Too cold to sleep alone." Niall whines, accent think with alcohol. He clambers into the bed anyway when Zayn doesn't move, presses himself up against his back and noses along Zayn's neck, wraps his arms around his torso.

Zayn hisses, slapping at Niall's cold hands on his stomach but pushes back into him anyway, "You're fuckin' freezing, Niall. Why are you back so early?" The cold outside clings to his jeans, the stupid t-shirt he wore even though he knew he'd probably get frostbite because of it, "You're supposed to be the party boy of this dorm room."

"Didn't feel right," Niall says, settling the blankets back over them, slipping his leg between Zayn's to press his cold toes into Zayn's calf just to piss him off, "without you being antisocial in the corner. Had a shit pong buddy, wished you were there the whole time." He's drunk, _so_ drunk, his words slurring as he babbles on, "No hot guys to take me home, no one to dance with- even though you wouldn't dance with me."

Zayn coos, reaches back to ruffle Niall's hair and gets a bite at the neck in return. "My poor Nialler," he says, chuckles before continuing, "missed me so much, just couldn't stand to be without me." He's trying to sound sarcastic but he thinks the hopefulness drips into his tone as well, rests his hand over Niall's arm so he doesn't do anything stupid.

"Missed you a lot, Z." Niall murmurs, quiet. He almost sounds sober. "Wanted to come home."

Zayn is twenty years old, body entwined with a drunk idiot who calls him home, and he's in love.

☾☰☼☰☼☰☽

Niall's breath stops and Zayn wishes he could rise into the night sky like the smoke of his cigarette did. He closes his eyes, shuts them tight, turns his head into the pillow like that'll make it look like he's asleep. He can feel Niall's eyes, can almost see the reflection of the moon in the midnight blue, his eyelashes fluttering in his confusion.

"Do you mean it?" Niall whispers, fingers wrapped tight in the collar of Zayn's jacket, willing him to open his eyes. "Zayn, you're a shit actor. Open your eyes and talk to me."

Zayn does as he's told, opens his eyes to look down at Niall's face- free of confusion, free of disgust; instead, filled with hope. "Do I mean what?" Zayn asks dumbly, nervous at the meaning behind the question, the meaning for the way Niall's looking up at him like the stars missing from his eyes are in Zayn's.

"Fuck you, you know what I'm asking," Niall huffs, pushing at his shoulder before dragging him back, closer, scooting up to be face to face with him, noses almost brushing. "You said- Are you really in love with me?"

Zayn wants to close his eyes, wants to slip his arms out of his jacket and roll out of this bed, wants to run out to the balcony and hide in the flower pot. He wants to do a lot of things that he ends up not doing at all, leaning in to press his forehead against Niall's. "I'm-" _head over heels_ , he thinks, _You called me some stupid name when we were 6 years old and I never wanted to let go of your hand. You kept me company when I was 9 years old and wanted to be alone, made sure to keep our friendship strong even though all you wanted was a new girlfriend when we were 14. You trusted me enough to come to me, so vulnerable, when you were 17. You were 20 years old and came home every night because you missed me, always acted like I was the one who made the sun come up every morning._ "in love with you, I'm so in love with you, Ni. Have been for years. For as long as I can remember."

He doesn't know what he was expecting, maybe for Niall to laugh at him like it was a joke, maybe for Niall to tell him the whole "gay" thing lasted until after college and he just never got around to mentioning he was straight as a board; he didn't expect for Niall to kiss him, right then and there, eyes closed and leg settled over Zayn's hip, hands tightened in his collar and at the back of his neck.

Niall's about to pull away when Zayn wraps an arm around him, tilts his head to kiss him back, eyes closed and grip on Niall tight like this is a dream, like if he opens his eyes or lets go, Niall will disappear. He pulls away to breathe, cups Niall's cheek, red lips stretched into a smile before Niall leans back in to pepper kisses over his forehead, his nose, "Thought you'd never feel the same, wanted to kiss the boy in the sandbox when I was six years old, told my dad I fell in love with my best friend and ended up living with him. I love you- Z, I'm in love with you. I'm in love with you."

Zayn is twenty four years old, kissing a boy who might just be his soulmate after all of these years in a tiny apartment- _their_ tiny apartment in the city; he's in love and he's loved in return.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback would be appreciated! (Even from you three, Emily, Kris, Tannah, my biggest fans.) 
> 
> I am desperately trying to fix my habit of using a lot of commas??? It's sort of my writing style but I'll work on it.
> 
> Thank you for reading! ♥


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